After all that pre-publication Potter punditry a number of people (one is a number, right?) wanted to know what I actually thought of Deathly Hallows now that I've read it.
First, without giving anything away for those who haven't finished it yet (which is more than J.K. Rowling would do for you � oh, why does she hate Magic?), I happily admit that I found it entertaining throughout, exciting in parts, and basically a satisfying conclusion to the series.
But I have to say there was something deeply odd about that last chapter...
SPOILERS BEGIN NOW
Before I get to that, though, a few quick observations.
� Like every one of the Harry Potter books since Goblet of Fire, Deathly Hallows could have benefited by being a third shorter. How many pages of moping around the woods do we really need?
� I was watching closely for adverbs used to describe dialogue and found only one � and it was appropriate. That can only mean that Rowling read and heeded Stephen King's criticism, and while this improved the book, it made me sad for the author. If she hadn't fixed the problem, it would mean she didn't care. But since she did, it must mean that she wishes her first six books weren't riddled with this annoying tic. Too late!
� As a number of people have observed, the big showdown made no sense. Eh, who cares? Making sense has never been part of Harry Potter's appeal. (That last link is via Eric Berlin.)
And now to the notorious quidditch mom epilogue, in which our heroes for the last ten years grow up to be dull suburban parents who say the kinds of thing that only muggle adults say, like "give our love to..." Rowling fleshed out their adult lives a bit in a recent web chat, but this is beside the point, and doesn't actually help much. Essentially, Hermione becomes a mid-level government functionary and Harry becomes a high-level government functionary. Ron is a small businessman. Really only Luna, who becomes a naturalist, seems to be living her dream.
So what to make of the ending? There are two ways to read it, I think.
The first is that it's a stupid, unintentional betrayal of the spirit that hooked everyone in the first place. The primal power of the Harry Potter story � as of so many like it � is in its archetypal inital conceit: an ordinary child who nobody understands is revealed to be a special person who has the central role in a great battle. On some level, every child (and the child in all of us) identifies with that kid and wants to imagine that they too are secretly special. Rowling indulges them for seven long books only to pull the rug out from under them at the end. You thought you were special? Guess what � no matter how exciting life feels right now, you're going to grow up and turn into your parents. Start measuring your life out in coffee spoons, pal, because in the end, you're gonna be reduced to living vicariously through your children, wistfully rememembering what it felt like to be the hero of your own story.
The alternate reading of the epilogue is, well, pretty much the same, except spun, Victorian style, as a sentimental sop to the grown-ups in the audience. Essentially, it's the ending of Peter Pan: Specialness doesn't come from the fever dreams of adolescence. True joy is in the pleasurable responsibilities of adulthood, and in passing on whatever magic you learned to your children. In the end, the play-acting of youth, with all it's drama and passion, is fleeting � meaningful only as a path to maturity.
Ick. I sure hope it's the stupid betrayal one.
