Harried with Insomnia, Potted with Delight

So, I realize that Harry Potter is so last week’s news, and that what I’m about to say may be the least bit original review of the series, but….OMG!!! Harry Potter is SO GOOD!!! Yes, I have just gotten hooked on the series this past weekend, after all these years of non-bandwagon-jumpage. Behold, i have jumped. And I’m mighty glad I did.

About three years ago I decided to give Harry P. a whirl. I was a burnt out literature student on summer vacation, and wanted something refreshing and fun to read. Harry Potter seemed to be the new crack cocaine for today’s youth, so I thought, “heck, if it’s good enough for the General Public, surely with my education and literary expertise this should be a breeze.” But I read the first book, and didn’t get into it. I recall saying to someone at the time, “I tried reading Harry Potter and it just didn’t do it for me. Apparently I have no soul.”

[Sidenote: sudden loss of soul is a common side effect of an undergraduate arts education. If detected early, it is quite treateable.]

So, after a year of Potterites telling me that the first book doesn’t do the series justice, I decided to read the second book. Got bored half-way through. Put it down. Felt angry with myself for having No Soul. Bought a plane ticket to Istanbul and spent two months backpacking around Turkey and the Middle East. That was the summer of ‘05. I had just convocated.

So, one year later - exactly one year ago - I again decided to give Harry one last try. I had been out of the System for a year, had not written one single academic essay on any piece of fine literature, and felt strong enough to read a children’s book without trying to ravage it with literary theory. I decided to skip right to the third book - apparently when the series starts to heat up. And I gulped down the first half. And then…kinda lost interest.

AAAAAAAARRRRGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

So last week, as the entire world Minus Me fell into a hush of reading, my Potter insecurities flared up big time. I pretended I didn’t care - “whatever, I’m just gonna watch the last season of Buffy instead!” - but it really really bothered me. The whole world seemed to care about something so magical and moving that I just didn’t have the heart for. I got mad. I dug up my old copy of The Prisoner Of Azkaban. I opened to where my bookmark was still placed. I read.

And read. And read. And read. Then picked up the Goblet of Fire. And read…

And read… and read.

And now I’m about a third of the way through the Goblet, and I’m utterly delighted. I’ve been happily staying up past my bedtime, cramming in those extra chapters, flipping through those seemingly candy-coated pages that just ooooze with fun and excitement. Apparently I have a soul. Phew.

This change is a sign of what I call Academic Recovery. It’s a willingness again to believe in magic. To surrender to an enchanted fantasy world. To get completely Sucked In to something against all reason. As artists, our most important tool is our imagination. We need to nurture, feed, honour and protect our savage imaginations.

One year ago (about the time I gave up on The Prisoner Of Azkaban) I decided I needed a new hobby. I popped my roommate’s copy of Buffy The Vampire Slayer, Season I, and never looked back. That show has been one of primary occupations this past calendar year, and in many ways, has given me an outlet to exercise my imagination in a way that it hadn’t since childhood. A year of Buffy prepared me for Harry Potter. Thank you, Joss Whedon.

As artists, we are always clambering back to the purity of child’s play. I’m starting to take Playtime very seriously. Sometimes, the most responsible thing I can do for my work is to buy some playdough and make little dinosaurs. Or get some crayons and draw. Or read a children’s series about magic and wizards. It’s all so rich, and I love it.

So, go imagination! I can’t tell ya how thrilled I am to have three more fatties to read after I’m done this book. August, you have just been filled. See y’all in September.