Potter Politics

Anyone who knows me will also know I can't stand Harry Potter. I can't stand the whole fantasy fiction genre per say (Lord of the Rings, etc) but HP proper gets on my nerves. I think the worst aspect of it is these socially questionable people gathered under the umbrella of 'fans' who queue outside bookshops at midnight to get a copy the minute it's released.

Everybody knows the first release of the book is the only one that contains all of the pages, and a page is removed each day thereafter by the bookshop staff as part of a Government-led initative to make people buy books sooner. Or something. All I know is that a 35-year-old woman who dresses as a bespectacled teenage wizard in public is not someone I'd want reading my literature.

Anyway, the inspiration for this blog is the politics of not telling someone the ending of a book, despite your best efforts to warn them that you're about to spill the beans. The event occurred a couple of weeks ago when I went to a mate's house. I'd never met the girl before so to be fair she didn't know about my slightly negative attitute to all things Potter, but the conversation went along these lines:

Me: "Yeah, so the Mrs has got the new Harry Potter cobblers and she's told me the ending"

Others in room: Silence

Me: (After a decent warning pause) "I can't believe he dies then comes back to life. Garbage"

Girl: (name unknown) "LALALALALALALALALA" with fingers in her ears

Me :"?"

Girl: "Don't tell me the ending, I don't want to know. I'm going to buy it"

Me: "Well why didn't you say summat in the first place? I gave you plenty of warning"

Girl: "Well I didn't think you'd give the ending away"

Me: "I can tell we've never met before"


As usual, I stand by my convictions. I wasn't trying to annoy anyone because I knew the ending; my mates all hate it as well and I was trying to make a point about how JK Wotsit can write any old tat and the readers will lap it up. It's not my fault she didn't heed the warning. Had she said "Terribly sorry old chap, but would you mind not giving the game away?" I would have initially been surprised cos she was Scottish, but I would've kept my mouth shut until she was out of earshot.

Which brings me to my next HP-inspired gripe: It's a made-up story about a made-up concept.

Magic doesn't exist. I'm sorry for all you advocates of Paul Daniels (and to a lesser extent his alcoholic black-sheep son Darren) but it's all a con. There's no magical skill to guessing your card or walking through the Great Wall of China - it's done with cameras, mirrors and fast hands. That's where JK makes her brass; she can write literally anything and say it was magic. You can imagine the editor reading that one:


Editor: "But there's no actual platform - they just run through a wall to get to school?"

JK: "Yep. Magic"

Editor: "And the ability to fly on broomsticks? I'm not sure kids will..."

JK: "MAGIC"


Easy, innit? I am jealous; I can't deny it. I wish I was a quid behind her just for sitting at home all day making up stories about a bloke who can't act hanging around with Robbie Coltrane. Now if I could invent a time machine...