And So We Make a Beginning...

This is a most appropriate time for me to begin re-reading the Harry Potter books, as I received the first as a birthday present eight years ago. Having never heard of the boy wizard with the broken glasses and lightning bolt scar, I harbored few expectations, aside from my aunt's generally distinguishing eye for great children's literature. As I recall, it was at least a couple of weeks before I started to read the book. I'm not sure at just what point I became riveted, but I fancy it was chapter four, since that marked the dramatic re-entry of Hagrid and Harry's revelation that his life was about to change dramatically. Though re-reading the first chapter, it seems I ought to have been hooked from page one, and certainly once Dumbledore showed up. There is such magic in Rowling's manner of writing, and such humor...

I find it interesting that there have been so many objections to Harry Potter, and it almost seems as though Rowling anticipated this with her painstaking description of two of the worst sort of Muggles. (That's not to say that those who disapprove of the series must of necessity be boorish and uncharitable; I know many lovely people who wouldn't touch Harry with a ten-foot wand. Yet I can't help but think of the Dursleys, and especially the first paragraph, when I see such virulent protests. The opening almost serves as a disclaimer: If you relate to the Dursleys' way of thinking, you probably won't like this book much...) I especially love "He hurried to his car and set off for home, hoping he was imagining things, which he had never hoped before, because he didn't approve of imagination." (5)

After shadowing Vernon for the day and seeing him home to his shrewish wife Petunia, it is quite a relief indeed to happen upon Albus Dumbledore, whose eccentricities shine like a beacon despite the trouble he takes in extinguishing the street lamps on Privet Drive. His relationship with Minerva McGonagall is quickly established; we see them as close friends, and though he is in a position of greater authority than her, there is a distinct playfulness in his manner that she lacks, though she is clearly not without compassion. McGonagall has a lighter side, but most times she comes across as very strict, stern and no-nonsense, and her disapproval is certainly aimed in many directions when we first meet her. She reminds me a great deal of a teacher I had in middle school, a marvelous teacher when all was said and done, but that didn't prevent her from being feared by most of the students. McGonagall is a formidable woman, the sort one doesn't want to cross.

But Dumbledore... Of all the characters in Rowling's world, I think he must occupy my second-highest slot, and in this first chapter we get several examples of his gentle wit, so sadly underdeveloped in the films. (Thank heavens for "Alas... earwax!") We see that he is amused by McGonagall's Transfiguration, sitting stiffly on a brick wall as a cat all day when she could have been celebrating. Then, while she is pressing him for information regarding Voldemort's demise, he randomly offers her a lemon drop, and then, when she persists with her query, calmly lectures her on the silliness of saying "You-Know-Who." When this prompts her proclamations of Dumbledore's greatness in being the only wizard Voldemort feared, we get this: "It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs." (11) And then, after she asks whether he might fix Harry's scar, he refuses, saying, "Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground." (15)

And then, of course, there is Hagrid, my favorite of all, and while McGonagall's first hint of him is an indication of his clumsy absent-mindedness, it is immediately followed by Dumbledore's sobering statement: "I would trust Hagrid with my life." (14) The description that follows is marvelous - I'm excessively amused by the comparison of his feet to "baby dolphins" - and his tender farewell is telling. I especially like his blubbering into his handkerchief. It's impressive how strikingly Rowling manages to paint five very distinct characters in the course of 15 pages. I was also struck by the fact that the motorcycle Hagrid was riding belonged to Sirius Black. I had no memory of that detail; certainly I didn't think it of much importance at the time, and if it came up again in book three I've forgotten. But it's an interesting little tidbit...

Well, that should do for my first post before I get too carried away. I am going to enjoy this exercise a great deal...