My nine-year-old son, Gregory, and I have many differences. He is a gifted baseball player, whereas I am athletically challenged; he has brown hair and I am blond (w-e-l-l, I was blond, in my youth); I like classical music and lima beans, both of which are met with my son’s most disdainful comments and facial expressions. On the other hand, we have many things in common: Gregory and I both like all things sour, from dill pickles to sour patch kids; we are both ticklish, and delight in tickling each other; we are both musical, and play the piano—and we both love Harry Potter.
Gregory was the first to fall in love with J. K. Rowling’s spunky, tousle-haired sorcerer, and I was fascinated to see my (normally very active) son carrying the “Potter” books with him wherever he went, just in case he would have five minutes here—or ten minutes there—when he could sit and devour a few more pages. He kept trying to talk me into reading the first installment, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, but I was reluctant to make a commitment. After all, how could a book which was written at a level that keeps a nine-year-old spellbound manage to be a “page turner” for an adult? The answer is that—through some form of literary magic not unlike that which she attributes to the witches, wizards, warlocks and other magical creatures in her books—she manages to appeal to readers of all ages and outlooks. Truth to tell, Gregory and I probably found different aspects of the Potter books more interesting or personally meaningful. My son was perhaps more taken by the atmosphere and clever word play, whereas I found myself more engaged by the author’s explorations of the darker corners of the human soul—by her musings on the nature of good and evil and the role which memory plays in determining our actions and attitudes as we confront both later in life. On the other hand, Gregory and I found common ground in our fascination with Quidditch, the unique (and highly creative) sporting event for seven-member teams, which the author has created for her wizards-and-witches-in-training to play while soaring high in the air on broomsticks. My son and I both rode on the brooms, played the game, and cared personally about the outcome.
Gregory and I can hardly contain our eagerness to read the next “Harry Potter,” and what this says to me is that these books work on all levels, and it is up to the reader to decide which of the author’s wealth of ideas and beautifully etched images are the most worthy of pursuit at any given moment. If you haven’t read these books, whatever your age, you’re missing a rare treat. (Gregory and I both agree on this, regardless of how we disagree about lima beans!)
