My will is weak. The final installment of the Harry Potter series arrived yesterday around noon. I have to go to Taiwan in a couple/few weeks and thought I'd save it for the plane ride. I had two other books that I had almost finished, and I would force myself to finish them before I started HP. Feeling a bit drained after my work schedule, I picked one of them up yesterday morning. I wasn't as far as I had originally thought... barely half way. I started reading, and kept reading. I finished about three in the afternoon, having taken a short break to get my hair cut.

I stared at the box, and couldn't help it. I'd just read a chapter or two, and get back to work around the house that had been put off for far too long. The laundry is piled on my bed, there are dirty dishes in the sink, the grass (weeds) are way too tall, and the study is a shambles of stacks of paper and books that I haven't put away. Unfortunately, Rowlings is gifted, and this book was her best effort in my opinion. I couldn't stop. I finished it this afternoon... all 759 pages. I am a slow reader, but found myself moving faster and faster through the constant troubles and struggles of Harry, Ron, and Hermione. I realized how unfortunate it has been that our society has left books behind.

I vaguely remember a sermon given at church when I was very young. Charlie was telling a story about how Satan was looking for advice from lesser demons. Three came forward. Like most fairy tales, the first two had nothing useful, but the third said, 'tell them there is plenty of time before Jesus returns.' This was the correct answer for that story. I think there might be a similar tale about today's entertainment and information flow. I have joked with engineering folks that if I could actually read and fathom everything written in the engineering/science books I have, I would not have any questions left. Similarly, in life we have tons of beautiful words available to us about what it is like to experience life and draw strength from them... more so, in fact.

I fine the Potter books enthralling. They are really a fantasy story, but there are parts in there that can be gleamed regarding the way human behavior should be, and the challenges in meeting those goals. That's why the books get darker as Harry ages. We lose the feeling of invincibility and innocence as we get older. We are constantly fraught with challenges that make us re-think our previous beliefs. The books are adventurous and alluring, but what happened to the rest of our literature?

So much insight can be gained in books, if one is looking for it. In the Chronicles of Narnia, there are a couple of times when Aslan answers a question regarding someone's punishment with, 'that is their story, not yours.' Frankly, that was truly altering for me. I have my own story to deal with, and it is unaffected by others. Deal with it. Live it. The emotional struggles detailed in Salinger's 'Catcher in the Rye' have surely been felt by every person. We have all gone through adolescence. The peace that comes from reading 'Walden' as Thoreau details the experience of distancing himself from (then) contemporary society to see what it would be like. Heck, even the Tolkien books are riddled with nuggets about having responsibility thrust on you, and having to do the right thing, regardless of personal consequence (did he read a lot of Jean Paul Sartre?). Maugham's 'The Razor's Edge' is loaded with life altering thoughts about what living is all about, and what we should expect. Incidentally, this is the only book I have ever read where the movie does it justice (the one with Bill Murray, believe it or not).

Have we really left it all up to Hollywood to give us this information? Can we really not engage our imagination anymore? What happened to our ability to create pictures in the mind and pull things out of the written word that might spark things in us that may or not be intentioned by the authors? Our lives have become so complicated, so confused that we have relegated ourselves to justify our behaviors with comments like, 'I don't have time,' or 'that's not my problem.' I do it, too, and hate myself for it. I still try, but recognize that I fall short. I am not loud enough. I am not strong enough. I stop to help someone on the side of the road, or extend myself to help friends in need, knowing full well that they feel no attachment to it, and will quickly forget the helping hand. But it is what I think is the right thing to do.

And so I read. I read for encouragement. I read for enlightenment. I read for support. My story has dealt some blows that I find very debilitating. Maybe I am too weak to deal with it, and that is my failure. Friends, coworkers and even family that abandon me after I have served a purpose makes me wonder why I continue to hit my head against the wall. Some day I will be wise enough to understand. I'll realize why I beat my head against the wall, or maybe I'll stop. I'll have a reason, though, and maybe I'll have the ability to put it down in words so that I might have a chance to help someone else get through the struggles easier, and ultimately exceed me. I hope I can do that for Annie.



Wishing I was more literate...