Written by Michael Claxton
“Oh, my son will be glad to do it.” That’s what my mother told the woman at our hometown bookstore, who was thrilled to have a volunteer and happily added my name to the schedule. What I would be glad to do, Mom later informed me, was give a dramatic reading from the last chapter of “Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince” at a midnight release party for the final volume of J. K. Rowling’s megahit series. “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows” hit the shelves at the stroke of past-my-bedtime on July 21, 2007, and the entire town of Conyers, Ga., was invited to celebrate the magic.I was told to be at the bookstore before 11:30, when I would read the concluding pages of Book Six, finishing moments before the assembled fans could legally purchase Book the Seventh. I practiced for days, calling my nieces for tips on how to pronounce characters’ names, since I myself had only managed to make it through “Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone.” Incidentally, the Edinburgh native author originally used the more erudite-sounding term “Philosopher’s Stone,” but the title was changed for the U.S. release, upon the assumption, I’m guessing, that Americans wouldn’t stand for reading about philosophy AND geology in one book.At any rate, I honed my reading voice and prepared to narrate the sad conclusion of “The Half-Blood Prince.” I practiced the sonorous tones necessary to dramatize the funeral of Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore and prepared appropriately somber facial expressions. I tried not to draw on my own experiences attending Southern funerals, lest I be tempted to inject the phrase, “Don’t he look natural?” into the text. In my mind, I was ready to dazzle the crowd, to whip these sequel-hungry masses into such a literary frenzy that they would make me an honorary member of the Order of the Phoenix on the spot. I imagined delivering an epic performance to a hushed, spellbound crowd. Somehow, it didn’t turn out quite that way.I arrived to find the bookstore packed way past the point at which the local fire marshal would have approved. Fans of all ages crowded the aisles, spilling out into the parking lot. Most came in costume, and the store was awash in little Harrys, Hermiones, Hagrids, Snapes, elves and one rather confused chap from Mississippi dressed as Admiral Ackbar. The younger kids were giddily waiting to buy the new book, while the older kids were just there because everything else in Conyers was closed. I spotted a couple of them smooching in the Harlequin section.Amidst the chaotic din of costume contests, trivia quizzes, door prizes and the roar of the Smoothie blender, I was given a robe and introduced as a college professor who was going to read. I began my well-rehearsed narrative moments before midnight but soon realized that no one was listening. The store phone rang constantly, text messages flew like Quidditch balls, mothers were ripping out checks in readiness for the buying melee, Smoothies were loudly made and more loudly slurped. I felt like tiny Professor Flitwick waving my arms to be heard above the noise. As it turned out, the timing was not quite right, and I was still reading when the midnight bell sounded and the place turned into the New York Stock Exchange.Of course, it had been silly of me to expect any less at a pop culture slam, but one little girl restored my faith in decorum. Bless her heart, she sat there in the front row, Hermione-fashion in robe and necktie, raptly listening to every word I read, no doubt having pored over them herself six or seven times. A patient, polite bookworm — no cell-phone in sight, blissfully unaware of the noise around her. So I finished reading “The Half-Blood Prince” for her, slightly bungling the name of Minister of Magic Rufus Scrimgeour, but still reveling in our little secret that reading out loud was fun.Last week I went to see “HP and the Deathly Hallows: Part One.” As the young wizards gear up for the final confrontation with Lord Voldemort, they must seek out seven places where old no-nose has hidden pieces of his soul. I felt sure one such hiding place would in a bucket of KFC, but all they can find is a locket. So our band of friends must destroy an evil wizard’s jewelry before it drives them all mad. Et tu, Frodo? This phase of the epic scavenger hunt ends with Voldo finding the wand-to-end-all-wands, leaving viewers eager to apparate right to Part the Second.It was certainly more exciting than the other movie my family wanted to rent during the holidays — “Eat, Pray, Love” — which was like watching a two-hour fortune cookie. A bit like Harry Potter, Julia Roberts goes all over the world in search of her own soul. She finds it in a plate of spaghetti and a toothless Balinese wizard, who repeats around 6,000 proverbs about love. But at least he has a nose. And, one can only hope, there won’t be a sequel. Expecto Patronus! Or, Calgon, take me away!MICHAEL CLAXTON is a guest contributor for the Bison. He may be contacted atmclaxto1@harding.edu
