Why I’m Spending My Lockdown Reading Harry Potter Again
Talking about death isn’t important. It’s a necessity.
This is the third episode of a series of personal book reviews. Please follow me if you enjoyed it and want to read my next stories, feel free to leave your own comments, or contact me if you would like me to write a personal analysis of one of your favorite literary pieces !
Disclaimer : All opinions expressed here are my own and do not necessarily reflect a general truth nor the opinions of anyone else.
I may not be the first one to say it, but I will anyway :
Harry Potter changed my life, for the best.
I read the books for the first time when I was about 10 or 11, about Harry’s age when it all begins. I keep a burning, intense, vivid memory of my first readings ; these days will forever linger in my mind as the strongest, and strangely happiest, days of my imaginary existence.
This marvelous universe has left an indelible mark on me for ever, I remember remaining for whole weeks in a kind of trance, permeated deep inside my being by this incredible story : the journey of a child towards adulthood, the choice of ordinary people between what is right and what is easy, the passage of man through death and towards the beyond.
For years and years, from childhood through teenage to adulthood, there wasn’t a year when I didn’t re-read them, again and again, over and over, in French at first, then in English, finally even in German, without any lassitude, always with the same amazement, the same ardent faith, the same nagging desire to escape forever into this fantasized world. Each and every time, closing the last volume, I would remain for days and weeks lingering in a semi-awake trance, half here, half there, the heart filled with a newly found confidence in life and, what’s even more important, in death.
Talking about death isn’t important. It’s a necessity.
“After all, to the well-organised mind, death is nothing but the next great adventure.”
Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone
I am deeply convinced that the source of Harry Potter immense success is that it adresses man’s ultimate, greatest fear, of dying.
We live in a world of instantaneity, of immediate enjoyment, where being happy is the norm and the dark moments of the existence are considered as frightening mental illnesses to be cured as quickly as possible.
So how is it possible that a book that, when you think about it, seems to be only about death and, more importantly, about man’s great fear in the face of this final journey, has become the most widely read non-religious book in the history of mankind ?
Maybe because it is, in a sense, religious.
It is religious in so far as religions also thrive on man’s fear of dying : in promising a better afterlife, they provide man with a reassuring thought in moments of existential despair, or after the loss of a loved one.
Harry Potter, though, doesn’t promise anything. Religions are like a long list of answers on every question you could ask, or even never thought of asking ; Harry Potter just teaches you not to be afraid, because there are things in the living world much more frightening than death. It inspires confidence and serenity, and leaves you with the task of figuring out what may, or may not, come next. In that extent, it would be more accurate to call it philosophical.
This is, as they say, your party.
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
I always thought, and still do, that Harry Potter is the only work in the world that mastered the way of talking about death both to children and grownups.
People tend to think that children don’t understand death, or don’t think about it, and that’s it’s a kind of perversion to broach that frightening subject with such young and innocent beings. Harry Potter proved them wrong, children do think about death, and need talking about it as much as adult people do. Children, though, have a much healthier approach to death than adults. They tend to be afraid of people they love dying, not of their own fate. And that is what should be your real and only fear.
Surprisingly enough, it seems that, early on in her work, J.K. Rowling had envisioned the kind of frenesy, of blind passion, of devotion that would take hold of her readers. Young Ginny Weasley, in The Chamber of Secrets, poured too much of her soul in a book. She became so devoted to it that it led her to her loss. Later on, in The Half-Blood Prince, Harry spends too much of his time reading over and over again the same potions book, trusted it too much, what drove him to a terrible murder attempt he never intended to commit. Lastly, in The Deathly Hallows, a childish fairy tale proves to be obsessive enough to momentarily discourage Harry of his great quest of the Horcruxes, as it had, long before, driven two of the most brillant wizards to the most terrible act.
Young Ginny poured too much of her soul in a book.
J.K. Rowling’s message is clear : in her work, books are represented as a beneficial source of knowledge, but dangerous objects to trust. Had she felt how her very own books would charm and bewitch generations to come ? How possessed people would become with what’s in them ? It sounds like a warning : learn from this story, think about it, but beware of putting your faith in it. Religious texts, on the other hand, always insist on the sacred nature of their very words, and ask over and over again for blind trust and complete faith in each and every of their syllables.
In that sense, Harry Potter is not a religious book.
So, why am I spending my second lockdown re-reading Harry Potter over and over again, as I did during the first one ?
The coronavirus crisis has, at last, drawn attention on those who are weak, sick, suffering, living alone or far from their families. After years and years being forgotten by the rest of society, their sudden deaths have reminded the world of their existence.
And then, suddenly, there is this urgent rush to protect them, to save them, those people we just noticed existed. And in order to do so, we isolate them even more. That’s for their own good. What had been an ordinary, morose lonelihood becomes an enforced, mandatory, oppressive isolation. We never had time for them, but we have to save them more time, at any cost, for them to remain a bit longer alone among us.
Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and, above all, those who live without love.
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
Instantaneity is over, as if time had interrupted its course. The lockdown creates a pause in our high-speed lives, a forced time to discover isolation and lonelihood. We never had time for anything, and now there are these never-ending weeks or months ahead of us, not knowing how long everything will last, or if we will ever be back to normal at all.
Suddenly, you find that you have plenty of time to read.
I was plunged in a spirit similar to Harry’s during his great quest. For years before, he always had a tangible goal within reach. However, not knowing what’s awaiting you anymore, lingering in a situation out of which you have no idea how to get, when the entire world is crimpling and dying around you, is an experience I never thought I would find myself in one day.
This feels like the perfect time to reconsider your views on life, death, and what really matters. And to read Harry Potter again.
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