A couple of days ago marked the
anniversary of the publication of the 1st Harry Potter novel in 1997. And I
began "serializing" a speech I made at Western Reserve Academy about
my experiences reading HP. In that first installment I wrote about how I'm an
obsessive reader of an author's complete works; in the second, about other
authors’ complete works I’d read—especially Anthony Trollope. What was it that
made me cave, that made me read all of Potter? Reminder; I delivered this
speech at Western Reserve Academy on May 4, 2012.
And speaking of
children … On Friday, July 20, 2007,
Harry Potter-mania covered Hudson like a crazy quilt. On the eve of the release of the final novel,
Hudson transformed itself, via some rough and ready magic, into a haven for
Harry-freaks. Harry Potter Land, they called it.
And The Last Extravaganza. Streets and stores got new names: Main Street
became “Diagon Alley”; the Learned Owl Bookshop, “Flourish & Blotts.” Merchants decorated their display windows
with images from the novels. Everyone
was selling Harry-related items; owners and clerks dressed like characters. A local restaurant offered a “Snapes’ Potion
Martini.” And thousands of fans—perhaps as many as fourteen thousand!—arrived to
walk and gawk and participate in the festivities. There were rock bands, a coloring contest, a
Quidditch match right out on the soccer field.
All that
Potteria made me want to puke.
But our
grandson, Logan, two-and-a-half, was visiting.
So we made nice. Joyce and I moved
slowly around town with our son and daughter-in-law and Logan, who was
alternately dazzled, delighted, and terrified by all that swirled before him. Sound systems blaring, people yelling weird
greetings to one another, thick crowds milling and mooing. One character on stilts and full blue costume
set our grandson to crying.
I tried to
recall any other publishing phenomenon like it and could come up only with what
I’d read about Charles Dickens—about long lines forming outside London bookshops
and huge crowds gathering at his readings and on the docks of New York City to
await the arrival of his newest novel—or latest installment thereof. But there is really no comparison. I don’t think people then dressed up like David Copperfield or Tiny Tim. Or barked at one another: Dude—It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.
That evening, our
grandson gone, Joyce and I escaped the Potter madness at the movies—a late
screening of Hairspray up in Solon. But as we drove back into town along Main
Street about 12:30 a.m., we saw the queue outside the Learned Owl—still hundreds of people, many in costume, waiting
patiently to purchase The Deathly Hallows. (The Hub-Times
later reported that the shop sold
around 2,000 copies that night.) And at
that moment, seeing that line, I snapped.
I surrendered.
Next day I bought the books. And by the first of August, as I’ve already
said, I’d read the entire Potter-saga.
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