By now, you’ve either read HP6, are reading it, waiting for your kid to finish it, or are fulminating against Pottermania. Never has a book been less in need of reviewing. HP6 begins with the world of wizards and witches careening violently into the world of Muggles, that is, those of us without magical powers. Rowling attempts, ham-fistedly, to introduce some topicality here: references abound to security precautions, stories of attacks "appearing almost daily" in the papers, instructions to "contact the Magical Law Enforcement Squad at once" if anyone is "acting in a strange manner..."; indeed, all hands on the clock at the Weasleys (where Harry is spending part of his summer holidays with Ron, one of his two closest friends, and Ginny, who later becomes his girlfriend) are "pointing at mortal peril".
In keeping with the uncertainty of the times, Dumbledore, the ancient, sagacious headmaster of the Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft, appears at Harry’s home, where he lives unhappily with his aunt, uncle and cousin, to spirit him away on a mysterious quest. HP6, reviewers have noted, is a dark book for one aimed primarily at children. There is an emotionally draining death, much horror, the use (once) of the word ‘slut’, and some minor adolescent kissing; though by the standards of most 16-year-olds, Harry and chums are freakishly well-adjusted, even prim. You could also argue thus: given that the series began with a double murder, death and destruction are par for the course; besides, childhood innocence is a creepy adult fantasy.
Rowling read classics at university, and the Potter series incorporates everything from Dante, the Bible and the Stoics to Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, Enid Blyton, Roald Dahl, Star Wars and zombie movies. In fact, if you’re so inclined, you can even draw parallels between Professor Slughorn in HP6 and Saul Bellow’s Ravelstein. Rowling is a magpie with a keen, shrewd sense of story but a prose style that is, at best, serviceable. "And now, Harry, let us step out into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure" is a lamentably typical sentence. Too much of HP6 is given over to exposition—inevitable, as Rowling’s most notable achievements are construction and maintenance. And the pace, remarkably for a book so packed with incident, often flags. HP6 is unlikely to be Potter fans’ favourite book in the series or to win over new ones, but it has a very specific function: to prepare the ground for the seventh and final volume.
As a phenomenon, Harry Potter is unparalleled. If it’s not the absurdity of a torchlit parade to Edinburgh Castle where the book was launched, of a shootout over a stolen copy, of a court gagging order to prevent Canadian readers mistakenly sold early copies from spilling the book’s unprepossessing secrets, it’s the absurdity of a lawyer concluding in the New York Times that "many Ministry of Magic procedures contravene the European Convention on Human Rights", of Pope Benedict XVI reportedly saying the books "are subtle seductions which...deeply distort Christianity in the soul before it can grow properly", of writers like A.S. Byatt attributing the series’ success to infantilism.
Arguing that adults should not waste their time with Potter is as futile and arbitrary as suggesting they not waste their time watching football or eating jelly. To read or not read Potter is simply a consumer choice, like choosing to listen to Britney Spears or read Jeffrey Archer. It is no more edifying than that.
I confess to finding myself on the outside looking in when it comes to Pottermania, like a young man peering over a bouncer’s granite shoulders at the party to which he is being barred entry. I don’t get it. What’s all the fuss about?
