Watching: Manabi #1-3
Fforde is in his usual form at the start of the book, and, though the feat would have seemed nigh improbable (if not impossible) to me before reading it, he manages to take the literary and metafictional satire to an all-new level. Without giving away any details from the book, I'll say that this is the first book of the series to stand up and demand a sequel, and that any dedicated fan of Thursday cannot afford to miss it! Newcomers to Ffordian space/time would probably do best to start with The Eyre Affair. In fact, given the opening paragraph of the last chapter, I insist upon it.
I happened across the Harry Potter books later than most, I think--pride, and my dubiousness of the true artistic worth of anything so popular as to constitute a cultural phenomena made me delay cracking open Philosopher's Stone (I don't care what the US calls it--Rowling wanted to keep it thus, and I would have wholeheartedly agreed!) until the fourth book had been penned and devoured by millions. From the moment I closed the first book, I knew that Rowling was more than a spectacle--she was a genuine storyteller.
And, like any true storyteller, she grew stronger with every outing. Looking back, I can see clearly that Deathly Hallows is in a completely different league from Philosopher's Stone--though both are inextricably bound, like Voldemort and Harry himself, and form a work far greater than the sum of its parts. I can say without equivocation, however, that Deathly Hallows is the cement that binds it all together.
I look back to my commentary of the sixth book, two years ago:
"One thing that has surprised and delighted me is how closely I have been able to anticipate the path along which Rowling's story unfolds (or, perhaps more aptly, how closely Rowling's proclivities in terms of plot, theme and storyline match my own). SPOILERS are forthcoming: from book one, I had hoped that Rowling would 1) depict Snape as a snide, flawed, but ultimately redeemable and noble character, most likely by having him aid Harry's quest to end the threat of the Dark Lord in some surprising or moving fashion, and 2), slowly mold Draco into a sympathetic and conflicted character. Books one through five showed hints of 1) being slowly undertaken, but 2) seemed to be a largely moot point. In the sixth installment (which, one learns by the end, essentially named "Harry Potter and Severus Snape") it is clear to me that Rowling intends to reveal Severus's nobility in some climactic fashion in the seventh and final book: she builds up the case for the reader to believe, as Harry does, that Severus is truly in the service of the Dark Lord, yet leaves sufficient wiggle room for his eventual reveal as a man worthy of Dumbledore's confidence. I reveled in the possibilities of making this initially and overtly antagonistic character transform from sulking menace to apparent adversary to unexpected ally, and it seems that Rowling intends to walk the same path in her books. My personal fascination with the themes of redemption and penance notwithstanding, on a philosophical and spiritual level, this feels like the right progression to make, and I am very pleased to surmise that Rowling--by virtue of her writing--seems to concur. Draco, the one-dimensional antagonist who serves as one of Harry's greatest adversaries in the early books, in the climax of this novel, takes (what I feel to be) his rightful place as a conflicted, rounded character, who has begun to feel his inherent proclivities begin to diverge from the facets of his upbringing.
"And, on the subject of things forseen (note: the SPOILERS continue hereon in this paragraph), I had sensed since the first novel that Dumbledore would, in the penultimate installment, or at least very early in the ultimate one, have to die, in order for the final confrontation between Harry and Voldemort to take place. In the intervening years, I have learned that this progression is an archetypal necessity (for the same reason that Yoda must pass on early in Return of the Jedi, in order for Luke to confront Vader and the Emperor): the protagonist's master must be removed, so that the principle character is forced to step up to the herculean task that awaits him. It is as inevitable as the cycle of life: the old must die, and give way to the young, that the next generation may hasten to mature in their absence, and fill-in the roles that the departed have left vacant. I did not look forward to the moment when Harry's beneficient mentor would have to bow and leave the stage, but I knew that, when that moment came, he would do so to fulfill a most dire need, and that his departure would, when the smoke fully clears, not be in vain. Dumbledore's demise is laced with the subtext which will power one of the most powerful plotlines of the seventh novel--the relationship between Harry and Snape--and provides the necessary impetus for Harry to head down the path of his story's inevitable conclusion. Rowling, with the clarity of a truly gifted storyteller, has netted two birds with one stroke of her pen.
"Though I can claim to foresee the path upon which Rowling's splendid story must travel to its conclusion, I cannot, with any degree of certainty or candor, claim to know the steps that will be taken along that road. Rowling's work is her own, and no one but she can bring her tale to its true resolution, whether that resolution be for good or ill, as far as the strength of the Harry Potter series is concerned.
"But if her current six books are any indication--and I largely suspect that they are--I'd say that the fate of this tale, beloved by millions, could be in no better hands."
I can say now that Rowling did not meet my lofty expectations--she exceeded them. She worked literally every element from her previous books into the seventh, in a way that rang true for the story at that stage, and yet also gave her most dedicated readers a nostalgic trip down memory lane. The result was that the Harry/Snape relationship did not take center stage, as I had predicted, but it did captivate a great many pages. The true surprise for me was the way in which Rowling chose to develop the background of Albus Dumbledore posthumously in this book, and the great cathartic effect it had on the story as a whole. If my master work were to be a story in seven parts, I could only hope that I would wrap it up as well as Rowling has her beloved Harry Potter septalogy. She does what every storyteller should do, but only the deftest manage with consistency: She spins a web of lies that tell a fundamental truth, and that truth reverberates from every decision, every action and reaction, that her characters make. As others like Fitzgerald and Tolkien, hers is a feat that will not soon be forgotten. I can only hope that the Harry Potter series will not be her last--that, like many others, once she has begun the path of the storyteller, she will continue to walk it until her dying day. The world, the publishing industry, and the reading public could only benefit from such an eventuality.Bravo, Mistress Storyteller. Bravo.
I find it hard to put into words the heft of the weight that has been lifted from my shoulders. (Nor does it matter that the same hand which lifted that one weight has replaced it with another--named responsiblity--of at least commensurate mass.)
Next time, a review of what may be the best book I have read in this already stellar year. Until then, gentle readers: Adieu.
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